


Balance

by kat_fanfic



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s01e16 Learning Curve, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt Tom Paris, M/M, Maquis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_fanfic/pseuds/kat_fanfic
Summary: Dalby lets out his frustrations on Tom, and unwilling to stir up more trouble between the Fleeters and the Maquis, Tom goes to the only person he thinks can help him - Chakotay.





	Balance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sverre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sverre/gifts), [CaptAcorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/gifts).



> This is for all six of you, who are still in this fandom. <3

The door chime pulled Chakotay from deep concentration. He looked up from the report he’d been studying and threw a glance at the chronometer. He frowned as he took note of the time. It was rather late, looked like he’d gotten lost in his work again. How ironic it was that it was not a hostile alien race that turned out to be the bane of his existence here in the Delta Quadrant. 

His door chimed again. 

Chakotay shook his head, annoyed with his woolgathering. “Come in.”

Tom Paris looked hesitant as he hovered in the doorway. “Am I disturbing you, Commander? I know it’s late…”

Chakotay waved his hand, setting the PADD down on top of the rest of the reports he still had to go through. “Just catching up on some paperwork. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

Paris pressed his lips together, studiously avoiding meeting Chakotay’s eyes. “Look, Commander. May I speak freely? Sort of,” he hesitated, “uh, sort of off the record?”

Surprised, Chakotay leaned back. He studied the man in front of him, noting the unusual tenseness in his frame. Something was going on, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t like it. “Go ahead.”

Paris nodded. While he did look relieved, the tension never left him. “I need a favor, Chakotay, and I kind of can’t tell you why.”

Instantly suspicious, Chakotay bit back his first instinctual response, which was to tell Paris to fuck off. They were off the record here, ranks didn’t matter, and for Chakotay that meant that all restrictions he had placed on himself when he became Janeway’s First Officer, fell away. 

As second-in-command, he had to hear Paris out. As Chakotay, he very much didn’t. 

And yet, something about the whole thing made him hesitate to shut Paris down. He could see no trace of the irritatingly cocky, loud-mouthed playboy here right now. Instead, the young man before him seemed nervous and insecure, showing a side to him that Chakotay had never seen before, not even when he’d been a drunken mess, way back when they’d met for the first time. Something had driven him to this, had driven him to seek out _Chakotay_ of all people and he couldn’t help but be curious. 

“I’d have to know the favor first, Mr. Paris.” Chakotay narrowed his eyes. “I hope you are aware that I have to report any sort of untoward behavior-“

“I need you to stop Tuvok’s training program.”

Chakotay stilled. That wasn’t at all what he’d expected. “The one he is conducting for the Captain?”

Tom nodded stiffly. He looked pale in the dim lighting Chakotay preferred, and still the pilot wouldn’t meet his eye. 

Sighing, Chakotay waved a hand towards the other side of the couch. “You may as well sit down, Mr. Paris. I have a feeling this is going to be a longer discussion.”

But Paris was shaking his head. “It doesn’t have to be. Just, tell Tuvok that the whole thing was a mistake and that you’ll find another way to get the Maquis to step in line.”

Leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs, Chakotay never let Paris out of his sight. His gut churned. “Why?” 

Paris grimaced. “That’s the part I can’t tell you.”

“So you want me to lie to Tuvok, go directly against the Captain’s wishes, and take on the training of the three Maquis in question without even telling me why?” Chakotay knew he sounded incredulous, a little mocking even, but he just couldn’t help it. 

Paris swallowed hard, and for the first time since entering his quarters, he met Chakotay’s eyes. “I’d owe you big, Chakotay, I’m aware of that. I am willing to repay you in any way you want, replicator rations, holodeck time, or I could even take over some of your work if you’d prefer, I’m good with reports...” He trailed off and shrugged, a helpless gesture that cut through Chakotay’s doubts of Paris’ sincerity. 

Whatever was going on, it wasn’t a prank or an elaborate scheme. The pilot looked desperate, at his wit’s end, and there was a frantic, feverish gleam in those blue eyes, one Chakotay knew all too well. He’d seen it before, many times, in Maquis fighters pushed to the limits of their endurance by circumstances out of their control. 

The Tom Paris that stood before him now was a far cry from the self-assured smartass that piloted _Voyager_ , and it startled him that it had only been a few hours seen he’d last seen the man on the bridge. He’d been fine then – or at least he seemed to be. Looking at him now, Chakotay couldn’t help but wonder how good an actor he had to be. Because what he was seeing now was a long time in the making, he was sure of that. 

“Tom,” he started, watching with rising concern how Tom couldn’t seem to stand still, constantly shifting his weight back and forth. “I want to help you, I really do. But I need to know what’s going on…” 

Tom was shaking his head before he’d finished speaking. “No, see,” he murmured, pressing a hand to his left temple. “You don’t. You’re the First Officer, crew discipline is your thing. You can just tell Tuvok that you’re taking over, and he’ll just have to accept it.”

Chakotay inclined his head. “I could,” he acknowledged, “but I won’t. I would never go over a department’s head like that, especially not without knowing why.” 

“So, you’re not going to help me.” Tom’s face was a grim mask. “I understand. Sorry for the interruption, Commander, it won’t happen again.” He turned to go, shoulders so stiff it looked painful.

Chakotay was up and grabbing hold of him before he could think better of it. “Paris, wait—” he started, gasping in surprise when Tom twisted violently away, wrenching himself out of his grip as if the touch burned him. 

“Don’t,” he hissed, dropping into a defensive position, desperation coming off him in waves. “I’m not down for the count yet, Maquis.”

Backing away, Chakotay held his hands up in front of his chest. “Peace, Tom,” he said, voice pitched low. “I didn’t mean you any harm.”

Paris was breathing hard, pulse so fast Chakotay could see it pumping on the side of his throat. “Yeah,” he murmured, shaking his head as if to clear it. There was hectic color in his cheeks, but the rest of his face was pale. “Okay.” He took a deep breath and some of the tension left his lean frame. “Sorry ‘bout that, Chakotay. Old habits and all.”

Chakotay nodded, trying to project calm. This was much worse than he’d initially thought. He hadn’t seen Tom react like that since the very beginning of his Maquis days… 

His thoughts ground to a halt. Oh, spirits. 

“Tom.” Chakotay didn’t try to step closer. Instead, he sat down on the couch again, letting Tom have the upper hand, so to speak. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me.”

The instant suspicion clouding Tom’s eyes was hard to swallow. “I’ll try,” came the reluctant answer.

Choosing his words carefully, Chakotay held Tom’s gaze. “Do you still have problems with the Maquis?”

Tom swallowed. For a split second, he looked disconcerted by the question, caught out. But then he just shrugged, and it was like the moment never happened. “Define problems,” he challenged, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “There are still a few that don’t like me much, and let me tell ya, they’re not shy about it.” He shot Chakotay a rakish grin. “But then again, that feeling is mutual, so…” He spread his hands in a ‘whatever’ gesture.

Chakotay considered the man before him. What he was seeing was ninety percent bravado and ten percent sheer desperation. Question was, what was Tom trying to cover up? Whatever it was, the measure he’d taken, coming here late into the ship’s night, asking _him_ of all people for a favor… it was very revealing. “I think you know what I’m trying to ask, Tom.”

Tom’s mouth twisted. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Sir.”

Chakotay shook his head. “Is that why you’re here?” he asked gently. “Because you can handle things on your own?”

“Shit.” Tom lowered his head, his brow creased. “Look, normally I don’t mind being the glue that keeps this damn crew together. I get it, you know? A common enemy, one that both Fleeters and Maquis hate even more than the Kazon, reuniting them in their disdain - that’s worth more than latinum out here in the Delta.” He laughed, a short, bitter sound, that bit into Chakotay’s gut like a punch. “Do I sometimes wish you and the Captain would be a little less on the nose in your divide and conquer approach towards me? Sure. But as I said, I get it. I’d have done the same, if I were in your shoes.”

Leaning forward in his seat, Chakotay made sure his voice was very calm. “What do you mean by that? Divide and conquer?”

“You know,” Tom made a vague gesture. “Her with her blatant favoritism, you with the barely concealed disgust… it’s very effective, gotta tell you that. A nice, neat reason for everybody to hate Tom Paris, served on a silver command platter.”

There was bile rising in the back of Chakotay’s throat, but Tom was continuing, unaware of the turmoil he was causing. “Normally, I can handle what they’re throwing at me, y’know?” He sounded almost proud of it. “It’s not too bad, mostly. Some have even come around, crazy as that sounds. And the rest, well, they know better than to rough up a senior officer and be caught at it, so it’s mostly just intimidation and vandalism. Nothing-“

“Nothing you can’t handle,” Chakotay finished. 

Tom shrugged, nodded.

Chakotay didn’t take his eyes off him. “But this time something’s different,” he said, a statement, not a question. 

Hesitantly, Tom nodded. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. He didn’t elaborate.

Chakotay’s mind raced, going back to Tom’s initial request. Of the four Maquis in Tuvok’s group, only Ken Dalby had the potential to be a real threat. 

Gerron Tem was young and sullen, war-scarred and in way over his head. Henley was full of scorn and contempt for anything Starfleet, but deep down, she was a good person and able to see the difference between right and wrong. The only reason Chell was in training with the others at all was his tendency to get bored easily, especially when there wasn’t a battle to fight. There wasn’t a malicious bone in his body – he was Maquis out of a deep need for justice, not because he had no other choice. 

Dalby, though… Dalby had never been Tom’s biggest fan, and that dislike had quickly turned into outright hatred the moment he learned that Tom was on board _Voyager_. The pilot’s casual betrayal of the Maquis cause had hit the man right where it hurt most, and while others were able to see worth in Paris’ bravery and his efforts to make life on board the ship more enjoyable, Dalby wasn’t one to be easily appeased.

He didn’t like Paris, full stop. And what Ken didn’t like, he punched. 

Chakotay let out an explosive sigh. Spirits, what a clusterfuck. “What changed, Tom? Can you tell me that much at least?”

Tom shook his head, struggling with it. “It’s starting to affect my ability to fly, is all,” he finally said. “There’s only so much I can heal without involving the Doc, and…” he trailed off, rubbing a hand roughly over his face. “Look, flying is the one thing I can do well. I’d hate for my reaction time to be off when it really counts, just because I’m _Voyager’s_ designated punching bag.”

Chakotay was thunderstruck. There was a dull roar in his ears, almost drowning out the pilot’s voice. It took all his willpower not to show the anger, to not throw himself up and do something about the fury rising inside him. The words _there’s only so much I can heal_ echoed in his brain. 

“So, let me get this straight,” he asked, softly, when he’d managed to control the rage boiling under his skin. After all, it wasn’t Tom he was angry with. “Under normal circumstances, the fact that you’re consistently being harassed doesn’t bother you, but now it’s gotten so bad that you fear your injuries will keep you from fulfilling your duty. Is that it?”

Tom’s face was a study in wariness. “I didn’t say it doesn’t bother me.” 

“Tom…” Chakotay shook his head, feeling heartsick. “Am I right in assuming that it’s Crewman Dalby that’s giving you trouble?” Such a benign way to phrase what was basically a campaign of terror.

Tom gave a single nod. 

“And it’s escalated, now that he’s under the stress of Tuvok’s training?” 

Another nod.

“Spirits, Tom. Why didn’t you just tell someone?” Chakotay was aware of the almost pleading tone to his voice, surprised by the strength of his reaction. 

Tom shot him a narrow look. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Chakotay smothered his frustration. You could barely call what Tom was doing ‘telling’, but then again, coming to him had been a big step nonetheless. “Yes, and I’m glad you did.” He took a deep breath. “So, first thing tomorrow morning I will issue a formal complaint on your behalf—” 

“You will do no such thing,” Tom interrupted him, adamant. “I thought I made it clear that nobody can know about this.” 

Chakotay stopped short. “Tom—” 

“No.” Tom glared at him, nostrils flaring. “Jesus, Chakotay, the only reason I came here in the first place was so that you could do something on the quiet, y’know, Maquis style.” Tom scowled at Chakotay’s astonished, horrified face, shaking his head frustrated. “I could have fucking issued a complaint myself, why do you think I went to the trouble of seeing you instead?”

Chakotay just stared. 

Tom huffed. “Don’t you see, the moment I come clean, there will be sides again. The Fleeters will see just enough Fleet in me to be offended on my behalf, and the Maquis will rally behind Dalby and his goons. It’ll all have been all for nothing. All the ground they’ve been making with each other…”

It was horrifying, the sense Tom’s words made. Pressing a hand to his mouth, Chakotay slowly shook his head. “Alright,” he finally said. “We’ll do it your way.” The words felt like ash in his mouth. It went against everything he’d tried to become since accepting the position of First Office onboard _Voyager_ , but he couldn’t just dismiss what Tom was saying. “I still think you’re underestimating the crew, though.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. We have enough problems already with the Kazon hounding our every step.” Tom seemed resigned to this reality, accepting of the fact that his personal peace of mind was worth less than the wellbeing of a crew who would never know the sacrifice he was making. 

Chakotay couldn’t take it anymore. Getting up, he walked close enough so that he could lay a hand on Tom’s shoulder, moving slow enough so that the man had the chance to move away if he wanted to. “It will stop,” he said simply. “I’ll put a stop to it, Tom, I promise.”

Tom’s eyes searched his, standing perfectly still. “Yeah?” 

“Yes.” Chakotay gave his shoulder a squeeze.

After a long, tense moment, Tom nodded, sighing softly, his relief almost palatable. “Okay. Yeah,” he murmured, voice low. “I’ll,” he cleared his throat, suddenly looking exhausted. “I’ll be out of your hair then.” 

He turned to go and this time, Chakotay let him. His mind was still whirling with what he had just learned, and what to do about it, plans forming and being dismissed just as quick. He owed it to Tom do this right – there would be no second chances.

Almost at the door, Tom stopped. “Chakotay?”

Looking up again, Chakotay was caught by the intensity in those blue eyes. “Anything you need from me, Tom?” Amazing how ready he was to lend a hand now.

“Nah, just.” Tom smiled at him, an open expression Chakotay had never seen on him before. “Thank you. For listening. And, you know,” he made a small aborted gesture, “everything else.”

Smiling back, Chakotay nodded. “You’re welcome, Tom. And if you ever need to talk…” 

Expression turning just the slightest bit sad, Tom inclined his head. “I’ll think about it.” He was gone a moment later, the door sliding shut behind him. 

With a heavy, world-weary sigh, Chakotay walked over to the replicator. After a short contemplation, he ordered a big cup of coffee, knowing that despite the late hour, it’d be awhile before he’d be ready to sleep. Leaning against the bulkhead, staring out at the vast expanse of space, Chakotay started planning.


End file.
